


Leaves of Red

by pushkin666



Series: Leaves of Red [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Character Death, Fucked Up, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Psychological issues, Serial Killers, Serialkillerbb, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-27
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 20:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2521271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/pseuds/pushkin666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the Serial Killer bigbang challenge at Livejournal - <a href="http://serialkillerbb.livejournal.com/">Serialkillerbb</a></p>
<p>What does a victim do to pique the interest of the serial killer? How does he stop becoming the victim, and instead become the pupil?  Serial Killer Patrick Stump</p>
<p>"Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red" from Clive Barker’s Books of Blood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Pete's fingers are ripped and bloody from where he's been tearing at the bars of the cage, at the locks, trying to get out. He'd even tried to claw his way through the hard earth beneath his feet to no avail. All he's done is add further injuries to those inflicted upon him by his captor when he was brought here. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Leaves of Red

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely gorgeous [Art and fanmix ](http://through-the-red.livejournal.com/36780.html) by [sirenofodysseus ](http://sirenofodysseus.livejournal.com/)

Pete's fingers are ripped and bloody from where he's been tearing at the bars of the cage, at the locks, trying to get out. He'd even tried to claw his way through the hard earth beneath his feet to no avail. All he's done is add further injuries to those inflicted upon him by his captor when he was brought here. 

Pete's not sure how many days that he's been here. The room he’s in is small with unpainted concrete walls and hard pressed soil. His cage is even smaller and although there’s room for him to curl up and lie down, to move around a little, he can’t stand up fully. Oddly enough, for all that he is naked, it’s warm. The place where he's held is dark, and the last time he saw light properly was when he first woke up. It had been too bright, the light shining down on him as though he was being inspected like a bug on a microscopic slide. The spotlights had blinded him so that all he could see at that time was a silhouette of a man. He knows it was a man because his captor had spoken to him then - the only time he has spoken to him. The quiet words still resonate through Pete's mind. He simply can’t forget them. _“Everybody is a book of blood; wherever we're opened, we're red.”_

There have been other noises since then, sounds that have awoken Pete from an unsettled sleep; screams, whimpers and finally that awful silence before the door to Pete's prison would open and those soft careful steps would sound in the room again, somebody walking part way in and standing still for a while. Pete would feel the heavy gaze on him through the pitch black of the room, and each time he wondered whether or not the steps would turn away and leave the room, or whether this time they would move closer to his cage. Whether the man would take him out and make him scream the way the others had screamed. He knows he’s visited at other times, because when he wakes it’s always to find food and water. Pete sleeps soundly and he wonders if the water is drugged. The thought doesn’t really bother him. If nothing else the drugs help him sleep. 

It's been quiet tonight, and Pete doesn't know whether to be glad of that silence or more nervous than normal. To relish the relief or to twist his stomach in knots working out what it means. It's typical that at the moment he thinks it, the lights in the room come on, blinding him. Pete presses his hands to his eyes, trying to shield them, and he tenses at the sound of steps, heading closer to him. 

"Look at me," comes the instruction. The tone is soft but Pete obeys nevertheless, blinking as he moves his hands away from his face. It takes a moment or so for his eyes to adjust and then Pete uncurls from where he's been crouched in the corner of the cage and slowly makes his way forward, crawling on his hands and knees, the hard ground cutting into his bloody bare skin. The pain is an irritant more than anything; mild in comparison with what he knows is to come. 

Pete knows that he's going to die, has always really known that things would end badly. He's been a fuck up for most of his life and in some ways he really hadn't been surprised to wake up naked and bloody in an iron cage. But in that moment he finds that he doesn't care all that much. Even though he'd always known he'd end up somewhere like this, that it would all end in blood, there's a look in this man's eyes that Pete's never seen before. He gazes down at Pete like he's a treasure, like he wants to eat him. And maybe he will, after. Or before, and Pete almost, kind of wants that, except then he won't see that look anymore and he wants that more than he wants death, and that's new.

Pete moves forward on his knees, creeping until he's up against the bars, and he wraps his hands around them and just looks back for a moment

"I'm Pete," he says, giving his name as a gift.

 

*****

 

Patrick is fully aware of the man’s name; he knew it even before he'd made his move. Taking the time to watch his projects, his books; is as important to him as how he _takes care_ of them once he's brought them home. But to be offered a name is something new, something different, and it interests him. It makes him pause for a moment and take a better look at Pete, at what he's being offered other than a name. Pete doesn't plead, doesn't beg for mercy as some of Patrick's other _books_ have done but sometimes it takes time for that to happen. Patrick has always been interested to see just how long it can take before the begging starts; for mercy, for life, for the pain to stop and eventually, as always, for it all to stop. And even then it's all done on Patrick's time. It depends on who is under his knife and how they have comported themselves during the read as to how Patrick finishes it all.

'This one though,' he thinks as he stares down at Pete, 'this one deserves time’. He's not offering anything, not money or his body, both of which Patrick has been offered before. All he's given, and yet it's the most important thing, is his name.

And in that moment he changes his mind about how the evening might pan out. It won't be Pete under his knives this time; instead it will be the occupant of the cage no. 2. Frank. Another pretty dark haired, tattooed man with gorgeous arm sleeves that Patrick is just itching to touch. Patrick takes the bunch of keys from his belt and unlocks the cage door and then he steps back ... and waits to see what Pete will do.

It takes a moment or two of Pete staring at him before he pushes the cage door open and slowly and carefully crawls out. In that time Patrick has loosened the taser from his belt and is holding it in his right hand, ready for use. He's certainly not prepared to take any chances and has always found a taser to be the most effective way of subduing his projects. Pete halts a step away from him and sits back on his heels, grimacing a little in pain as he does so.

Patrick steps up to him and before Pete can say or do anything, the taser has been brought up to his abdomen and discharged, and in that moment Pete is writhing on the floor, unintelligible sounds coming from his mouth. Patrick smiles and crouching down he pushes Pete over and handcuffs his wrists behind him. Being tasered of course means that Pete is a dead weight but Patrick isn't too concerned about how many times Pete hits the side of the stairs as Patrick pulls him up them. Once they're at the top Patrick tasers him again, ensuring that there will be no resistance. 

 

********

 

By the time Pete comes back properly to himself he doesn't care where he is, he's just grateful that the pain has stopped, and that upon flexing his fingers he can move again. He shakes his head a little and then wishes he hadn't. It isn't the first time that he's been tasered, and he'd known what to expect but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it when it happened. He'd once likened it being struck by lightning. From the moment of impact, he had no control over his body, and he could feel every little bolt of electricity in his fingernails and teeth. As he'd frozen up and started to see stars all he could think was 'this hurts really bad, and I'd like it to stop now.'

And it has, for which he's extremely grateful. The room is bright, brighter than Pete has been subjected to for some time and it takes some seconds for his eyes to adjust properly. He blinks and takes a look at his surroundings. Of all the places to wake up in he did not expect it to be a library, but that's where he is. The wooden bookshelves full of books cling to the walls as though they are mated and Pete takes a moment or two to take in the scent; the hint of vanilla overlaid over the smell of old leather. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply trying not to think too closely about what else is in the library. About the wide stainless steel double-shelved trolley with the naked man strapped to it. The deep sides of the top shelf. The bucket on the bottom shelf clearly waiting to catch any liquids. The thick plastic sheeting underneath the trolley to no doubt stop any damage to the flooring. Pete opens his eyes again as he hears footsteps and he stares into the centre of the room, where this time they've been joined by their captor. 

He's not as Pete remembers, but then the circumstances from that first meeting in the club to how they are now are completely different. Then, Patrick - if that was even his real name, had seemed shy and a little nervous when he'd approached Pete. He'd charmed Pete with that shyness and the way he'd been unable to stop looking up at Pete. The way he dressed; hat tilted over his eyes and ridiculously bright vest over a pair of cargos. It was clearly artifice and the Patrick now standing in front of him, dressed casually in loose black clothing looks seriously fucking scary. 

Pete swallows again, trying to get some moisture into his mouth and then he coughs, and Patrick smiles. 

"Finally awake, Pete," he says. "I hoped you wouldn't be out for too long, after all it was only a taser and I really wanted you to watch the show." He looks down at the bound, gagged man and trails his fingers over his arm. "Beautiful arm sleeves aren't they?" he comments to Pete. "They were the very first thing I noticed about him. Like yours, although I noticed your barbed wire tattoo first. I wondered how it would look stripped from your body and laid flat in one of my books." 

He smiles and it feels as though the blood in Pete's veins has frozen. "Still, not your turn just yet." Patrick walks around the table so that he is facing Pete, avoiding the ineffective kick that's aimed his way from the table. "Ah, ah, ah." He bends down and takes a look at the canvas knife roll that's open on the bottom shelf of the table. "This one I think," Patrick holds up a knife for Pete to see. "This is a Japanese paring knife. One of my favourite blades," he grins at Pete. "It's Damascus steel and quite strong, cuts through flesh like butter. Now, Frank here," Patrick takes hold of the left foot of his project and trails the knife over the skin, "... is about to find out just how sharp it is, aren't you Frank?" 

There's no response forthcoming other than the man trying to pull away from Patrick, to pull away from his bonds but to no avail. Pete watches as Patrick removes the gag from Frank’s... no, from the man's mouth. Frank tries to speak, but his words are slurred and it’s pretty obvious to Pete that he’s been sedated. Pete doesn't want to think about what his name might be, who he is and what his story is. How he came to be here. He's just going to watch, after all there's little else that he can do, tied as he is. There's going to be death in this room today and no matter what happens Pete will make sure it isn't his death. 

He watches as Patrick bounces a little on the soles of his feet, clearly excited about what's to come. "Let's hear what Frank has to say, shall we?” Patrick says, dropping the gag casually on the floor.

 

"Keep your eyes on us, Pete. I don’t want you turning your attention away from us; after all, Frank here is taking your place tonight." Patrick looks down at the man, his hand hovering as though he isn't sure where to start, and then, as Pete watches, his fingers’ curling tight into his palms, the knife slowly slides down and the first cut is made.

"This should have been you," Patrick continues, his words cutting through the room as his knife cuts into the body below him. His hands are starting to turn red with blood and it's impossible for Pete to look away, to even try and drown out the gasps of pain and curses thrown at Patrick

For a while Patrick is silent, working on the body below him which was beginning to resemble nothing more than a bloody hunk of meat despite the cries and moans of pain.

"See the thing is," Patrick carries on as though there had been no break in his train of words, "you interested me tonight which is the reason why Frank has come to the library a little earlier than expected. I think there's more to you than meets the eye." He smiles at Pete, and Pete tenses in fear at the look. The smell in the room is beginning to get to him, to make his head swim but through it all he finds that he's unable to stop watching Patrick, fascinated by what he's doing. Patrick, whose arms are now bloody up to his elbows, hums softly as he cuts, ignoring the curses and screams from the man he's cutting into. The way the body bucks trying to get away from him, yet also moving closer to his knife, as though Frank is caught in a dance he doesn’t want to be in.

With his arms tied behind him, and his legs spread and tied to the bottom of the chair legs Pete is as much on display for Patrick as Frank had been, and as he realises with a shock that he's beginning to harden, to get turned on by what was happening in front of him he knows he can't hide it.

Eventually Frank's mumbled curses turn to pleas and Patrick slows down with his movements. "Finally," he says softly, his tone almost affectionate. "It took you long enough Frank, you've been a lot braver than some of those who've gone before you." He strokes his fingers down Frank's left cheek, trailing them down his jaw and neck before coming to rest over Frank's bloodied chest. "Such a beautiful book", his words are soft and intimate as they're directed at his project. "You were fascinating to read but eventually no matter how good the book is it comes to an end doesn't it." Frank whimpers and before he can make another sound Patrick's hand has come up, there's a swift movement and Frank's throat has been cut.

The blood spurts and then begins to trickle down his neck and the dripping into the bucket increases. Patrick stares down at the body for a moment and then he picks up a cloth and wipes the knife down before putting it back onto the knife roll. He wipes his hands and then looks over at Pete.

"See these," he points out the tattooed sleeves to Pete. "These I want. Normally,” he looks down at the still body, "it seems sacrilegious to cut off the hands but it makes it so much easier to remove the skin. Have you ever skinned anything, Pete?" 

Pete shakes his head. He may have done many things but that's not one of them.

"Ah well." Patrick brushes his hair away from his forehead and out of his eyes, leaving a trail of blood behind before leaning down and picking up a chef’s cleaver from the shelf below. "It's quite easy once you've done it a few times. My father used to take me hunting when I was younger although I'm sure he never imagined that showing me how to skin animals would come to be so useful for me later on." He throws back his head and laughs and Pete can't pull his eyes away from the pale skin of Patrick's neck. 

"He also taught me how to tan hides, another very useful skill to have," he carries on as though he's a teacher instructing a slow student. “Now, bone. Bone is an absolute fucker to cut through, he tells Pete, "but," he holds up the cleaver. "This works quite well at cutting through some of the most resistant things." 

Pete swallows, his mouth tastes of bile and he swallows again trying not to be sick as he watches Patrick cut the hands of the body. Now that Frank is dead this scene seems so much more intimate, with Patrick explaining what he is doing as he goes along. Pete manages to control himself up to the point where Patrick begins to skin the tattoos away from the arms and then he gags as the sounds and smell begin to finally hit him. Patrick puts down his knife and a moment later he's standing in front of Pete holding out the bloody bucket to him.

"Here, use this", and his hand slides around the back of Pete's neck until he's cupping Pete's head. Pete nearly shies away but then the glimpse of what is in the bucket overcomes his attempts to stop being sick. The blood, sliced pieces of flesh and hands and Pete heaves unable to stop from vomiting on top of it. He retches and retches until there is nothing else to throw up other than bile and his own blood from his torn throat.

Patrick puts the bucket down and strokes his hand over Pete’s head; down and over his hair until it is resting comfortingly on Pete's back. "There's no shame in it,” he tells him. "You understand what's happening here and that’s good." His voice is lower now, darker, and Pete begins to shiver for a different reason. He wants to push into Patrick’s touch. It’s the first kind touch he’s had in a while and if he could he’d simply close his eyes and rest his head against Patrick’s chest. He has the feeling that Patrick would let him. Pete's always been a sucker for a bad boy, it’s gotten him into some bad situations before and now he’s in the most dangerous situation he’s ever been in but he doesn’t care. He wants Patrick to touch him, which is just sick. He knows it is but he can't help himself. He's never claimed to be normal and he doesn't think that he's about to start now.

Patrick laughs and Pete looks up, into eyes that still look as though they want to devour him. Hungry eyes. Dark, dangerous eyes and Pete can feel himself beginning to harden again from that look, the solidity of Patrick as he presses close to him and the way his touch is marking Pete with blood. Pete makes a soft sound and Patrick takes a step away and looks him over, his laugh a darker tone as he notices the state of Pete’s cock. He looks at Pete again and this time Pete gasps at the searing look of want in those eyes, the darkness lying close to the surface. Patrick runs his fingers over Pete's jaw, a light touch. “Soon,” he tells him. "After I finish with Frank. Then... Well, we'll see, won't we?"

He picks up the bucket and takes it back to the table, placing it under the hole. The _drip drip drip_ of blood recommences into the bucket, the sound not masked by Patrick's humming as he goes back to where he’d left of, skinning the tattoos away from the body. Pete drops his head and closes his eyes, trying for at least a moment to blank out what’s happening in this room, and the way he’s reacting to it. He’s not quite sure whether to be disgusted at his body’s reaction, or to be relieved that it seems to have kept his captor even more interested in not killing him just yet. 

 

********

 

Patrick is pleasantly surprised at how this evening is panning out. It's certainly not how he expected it to but he's never been afraid of the unexpected, the unusual. Embraces it in fact. He's enjoying himself, always does when he has a project to work on – a new book to read – and the tattoos that he's removed from Frank's arms are stunning. He will need to be careful with them to make sure they're preserved properly. When he first came upon the idea of doing this he'd been unsure whether it was possible. But Google is an amazing thing, and soon he'd been corresponding with a tattoo artist in Europe about the idea of preserving tattoos and how to do it. His first attempts had been pretty poor but it's not as though the tattoos had been anything special. He'd waited until he'd gained more knowledge and experience before trying it on something he really wanted to keep.

He carefully removes the skin and places it in the water bath he has ready. Turning back he finishes removing the other sleeve and then it too joins its companion in the water bath. 

What he didn't expect to happen though was Pete. Patrick has always hoped that he would find a companion for his life, somebody who would accept him for what he is and love his hobby and his books as much as he does and he thinks, that maybe, just maybe, Pete might be the one. He glances over to where Pete is tied and yes he's still hard, his wide eyes staring at Patrick as though he can't pull them away from the scene in front of him.

Patrick smiles. He knows exactly what he's going to do now. He wants to bring Pete off, give him a bit of a reward for how he's acted tonight. How he offered himself to Patrick. It will be interesting to see where it goes and Patrick feels a spike of excitement go through him at what is to come. He pushes his fingers into one of the cuts on the body, gathering up some of the blood and then with a slow, purposeful walk he heads back to Pete.

Pete's eyes are huge and dark as he stares up at Patrick and he cries out, hips bucking up as Patrick smears blood over his cock. Frank's blood. "Well, aren't you something," Patrick murmurs. "You are a very pleasant surprise." He starts to move his hand over Pete's cock, his movements firm and a little harsh. Pete cries out as Patrick brushes his thumb over the tip of his cock and he bucks up again, into Patrick's hand. It's not enough though; he doesn't look desperate enough and so Patrick brings his free hand up and presses the fingers against Pete's mouth demanding entrance. At first Pete seems to balk but then as his eyes meet Patrick’s he opens his mouth and flicks his tongue against the tip of Patrick's fingers, tasting the blood.

He whimpers and Patrick pushes his bloodied fingers deeper and deeper into Pete’s mouth, brushing against the back of his throat and Pete gags a little before he starts to suck properly at the fingers, his tongue flicking over them. Patrick tenses at the touch but then the image of just how wrecked Pete might look if it were Patrick's cock pushing into his mouth hits him and he starts to harden. Not that he's intending to do anything about it right now. His thrill has always been from the kill but he does wonder just how much he could push Pete. Something to think about for the future - as long as Pete stays interesting. He wonders what it might be like to push Pete over the still warm corpse of one of his projects and fuck him, using nothing but the blood as lubricant and now he's fully hard.

Time stills and becomes nothing more than heat, movement and the sound of Pete whimpering desperately against Patrick's fingers, the way his cock pulses in Patrick's hand and then Patrick twists his hand and forces the orgasm from Pete. He swallows against Patricks fingers and cries out loudly as Patrick pulls his fingers free and he comes over Patrick's hand. Patrick smiles and, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licks them clean of the come and blood. "Very, very nice," he tells Pete who looks completely wrecked. 

He straightens up and cricks his back a little. What he wants now is a long hot bath and something to eat. He'll take care of his own hard on later. For the moment though his eyes narrow as he stares at Pete, wondering whether to put him back in the cage tonight or leave him out. Maybe even feed him with something other than sandwiches. Give him a hot meal. Pete stares up at him, eyes dark and in that moment Patrick's mind is made up. Pete won't be going back to the cage tonight. 

 

********

 

Patrick doesn't start with animals, nor has he ever, other than as a small child wet the bed. He doesn't self-harm and although he's always been a bit of a loner he gets on well with people. Always has. He’s held down a steady but boring job for years. As a teenager he'd loved singing, but had realised that if he wanted to stay under the wire an office job would be better.

It starts rather unfortunately with a road accident. Unfortunate for the victim certainly, and for the driver of the vehicle who'd had no chance of avoiding her, when she ran out in front of his car.

Patrick was there when it happened - heard the impact, saw her fly up in the air and he’d stopped and watched the trajectory of the body as it fell back down with a loud squelch to lie still in an ever expanding pool of blood. He’d seen her eyes as they faded into nothing, the life bleached from them and his head had filled with a roar, like a huge wave crashing onto the beach and he’d thought ‘Oh. So that's how it is.'

He’d stayed there for a while savouring the moment and who was to say anything if the tips of his Converse had soaked up some of her blood. Patrick still has that pair of Converse carefully packed away, tissue paper wrapped around them keeping them safe and away from sunlight. He doesn't want the blood to fade after all. As far as Patrick is concerned they are his first trophy, even though he had nothing to do with killing her and indeed his tendencies are for men, not women. He can categorically put hand on heart and say that he has never been responsible for the death of a woman. But she started it all, and for that Patrick wanted to have something to remember her by. Wanted to provide her with that respect. 

 

********

 

It had been the tattoos that had caught his eye at first; the trail of barbed wire around the top of the shoulders, the edge of it just touching the neck. Patrick’s eyes had continued down and over the man’s body, trailing the tattoos like the barbed wire trailed the flesh, taking in the intricacy of the arm sleeves and he’d wondered how they would look spread flat and held in a book. Removed from the flesh.

He'd nearly gotten caught up in the colours and patterns of the tattoos, it was almost too easy and so Patrick had ripped his gaze away and looked up ... at the man. His breath had caught, and Patrick had known that here, dancing in front of him, was another book for his library.

There had already been a couple of potential projects that Patrick had noticed that night but as soon as he'd seen Pete, and Patrick savoured the name and the way it sounded in his mouth, they'd faded away. So he’d stayed in the club, watching Pete as much as was possible. Thankfully, it hadn’t been that busy but then Sunday nights never were. It was why Patrick chose them; easier to find and keep his eye on someone, easier to track them, rather than see them disappear into the heavy sweaty throng of a Friday or Saturday night. Also, Patrick had learned that a Sunday night bought out the desperate and lonely prey – those with either dead end jobs to go to in the morning, or with no jobs at all. People who wouldn't be missed.

So he’d drank slowly at his beer, replacing it at least twice so as not to piss off the bar staff and watched Pete. The name had been freely given by the tall attractive barman sporting the name tag of Gabe, and if he'd been shorter he would have fitted Patrick's requirements perfectly. As Patrick watched he could feel something dark and hot stirring within him and the excitement of finding a new project - a book for his library - and starting to research them began to grow.

He’d watched Pete for three weeks, even venturing into the club on a Friday night; Gabe’s casually thrown comment of "he's always here," turning out to be the truth. Patrick took care to ensure he didn't stand out too obviously as a stalker - _researcher_ he amended in his own mind. He’d danced with both boys and girls and even let himself be seen taking one of the girls home. Not to his real home of course, that wouldn't have been safe, but to the hotel room he'd booked for the night. They'd enjoyed each other and in the morning he'd sent her off with a kiss and a slap on her backside, neither of them wanting or expecting anything further from the night.

Patrick had been in no hurry. He’d already had three cages filled at home, waiting to be emptied when the time was right; three pretty brown eyed, brown haired boys and soon, 'soon,' he’d thought as he’d stared at Pete there would be a fourth cage filled and his work could begin!

 

******* 

Gently," Patrick's voice is soft, as soft as his breath over Pete's skin and Pete shivers. His hand shakes a little and Patrick brings his arms around Pete's body until he encircles him, his right hand covering Pete's and just like that he's all that Pete can think about.

Their victim, caught and tied up for Pete's benefit is no longer of consequence and Pete closes his eyes and leans back into the solid, and warm embrace.

They stand like that for a while, the room quiet around them and Pete doesn't think about what's about to happen, instead just thinking of the man holding him.

It's only been a few months since Patrick let him out of his cage, and in that time Pete feels freer than he's ever been. The darkness inside is slowly being released, through pain, sex and blood, the shared experience of watching Patrick kill and learning how to cure the removed skins so they don't rot.

Patrick has been true with his promise of fucking Pete over the warm but still bodies of his projects. The first time it happened Pete had been concerned he wouldn't get hard but he had, to Patrick's poorly concealed amusement.

Patrick had hurt him after that first time, beating him to the floor and then cutting him, his darkness reawakened by Pete's matching darkness.

But they haven't killed together and that missing element reminded Pete of the cold within. That despair that would push him to seek out somebody to hurt him. The cold that brought him here. He'd mentioned it to Patrick only to be met with a sharp "no, you're not yet ready," and a dark look. 

Eventually Pete went to his knees begging Patrick to let him help. To be allowed to kill.

Nothing was said. Instead Patrick had chained him to the bed face down and started to cut across his back, the pain making Pete cry out with pain, and then his begging changed as he hardened and he rubbed against the bed trying to get off.

To no avail, Patrick had carried on marking him until Pete's vision began to fade out and the black began to leach into red. As he began to lose consciousness, Patrick had climbed onto the bed. His clothes rubbed against Pete’s wounds as he fucked him hard, his hands coming up and encircling Pete's wrists. Holding him down.

When he woke up the next day his bonds were gone and a blanket was thrown over him, keeping him warm. Fingers ran through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp and Pete whimpered softly, enjoying the touch.

"You are a delight and a treasure," Patrick had said continuing to card his fingers through Pete's hair. "I'm glad you gave me your name that day and I think that you might be ready for the next step."

Which had led them to here, to one of Patrick's basement rooms, a dark haired transient tied up for Pete's benefit. To learn on.

"Open your eyes Pete," Patrick told him and Pete obeyed blinking a little at the light.

"Time to start," he says. "Now make the first cut a gentle one. You want this to last after all," his hand tightens on Pete's, tightening both sets of fingers on the knife Pete is holding.

Pete swallows and he traces the knife over the skin trying to decide where to make the first cut. There is only one tattoo, a poorly inked heart on the man's right hip and Petr decides to start there. It's unattractive, nothing like the tattoos Patrick has upstairs, nothing like Pete’s own but this isn't a worthwhile project. This isn’t a project to be savoured. Not to Patrick anyway. Just someone for Pete to practice on, to start his craft as Patrick calls it.

His knife hovers over the faded heart and then he turns his head, to get Patrick's approval. Patrick nods and he smiles, his teeth sharp and white and god Pete wants. "Good choice. Now make the first cut."

Pete shivers a little and then he does, pushing the sharp blade into the skin. It takes very little time to cut the tattoo away, Patrick's knives are sharp and we'll looked after. The man cries out through it, pleading against the gag.

Patrick tuts. “Pathetic," he says. "It's only one cut. He's really not worthy of you Pete.” His fingers loosen on Pete's letting them free to do their own work but he slides both arms around Pete's waist now and he pulls him closer.

"See what you do to me," he whispers pushing his hard cock against Pete's back. "When we're done I'm going to suck you off as a reward for a job well done. Now make me proud," his words resonate through Pete and he wants to please Patrick. Wants his darkness to meet Patrick's own.

He grins and moving his hand he drags the knife leaving a trail of blood behind. It's a beautiful sight and Pete takes a deep breath before going to work, making a pretty picture for Patrick. Making him proud. 

 

*******

 

Pete smiles as he watches Patrick dancing amongst the crowd. He's still slightly on the outside so Pete is able to see him, and he's not short of partners. Since they first _met_ five years ago Patrick has changed. He is slimmer now and, if anything, he looks younger than when Pete first woke up in Patrick's basement. In the cage. Dressed, as he is now, in black jeans and a tight tee-shirt he's looks utterly fuckable. He's been dancing with men and women all night, but so far there hasn't been anybody that's caught Pete's attention.

It's Pete's turn to watch tonight, they take it in turn these days. Pete is no longer the follower, the pupil, the former captive. Now he's equal to Patrick in all ways. Their tastes are the same and that has always helped. And it's at that point that he notices him. Dark hair and eyes, thick rimmed red glasses, tight white tee shirt, jeans and a black waistcoat. Pete sits up and takes a mouthful of his drink. The boy is very pretty and Pete knows, in that moment, that this is the one for them. Or for him. He trails his gaze over the body; slim hipped, hair poking up above the neck of the tee-shirt, smudged eyeliner and tattoos and he likes what he sees.

He keeps watching him whilst he takes out his mobile phone and texts Patrick, who's at the other side of the club. By the time Patrick has read the message and come to find him, Pete has already made the first move.

Patrick slides into the booth opposite Pete. "Pete, who's your friend," he asks with a smile turning to the young man who he's effectively trapped in the booth. 

"Patrick this is Brendon. Brendon," he waves his hand at Patrick. "This is Patrick, my partner." That's how they always introduce themselves. Partner can be anything, and it's always interesting to just see what kind of reaction they get. There's definite interest in Brendon's gaze as he looks them over and then he raises his beer and salutes them before taking a mouthful.

Pete gets up to fetch them more drinks and if he waits a little longer at the bar it's only to give Patrick more time to get Brendon comfortable, to start finding out about him. Patrick's much better at getting information out of people. Bizarrely there's something about Patrick that makes people relax around him. 

"Brendon here is a singer," Patrick tells him as he sits down. "Not only a singer but also a music student. How many instruments was it that you said you played again Brendon?"

Patrick's smile is bright and wide, and Brendon stammers a little under it when he responds with ""I- I- ju-just play five." He blushes a little and Pete's gaze meets Patrick's for a moment, knowing exactly how it feels to have Patrick's complete attention turned upon you. How it can turn a person into a tongue twisted idiot. 

Patrick nudges him. "Is that all?" he asks jokingly. "That's pretty fucking amazing Brendon, most people can't even play one instrument. So," he nudges him again. "Finish that bottle now Pete's bought you another one. I fancy a dance and I'm sure you like to dance don't you Brendon." 

Pete watches as Patrick wraps his fingers lightly around Brendon's wrist. For a second or so it looks as though Brendon might protest, might try to pull away, but then he downs his drink and allows himself to be pulled out of the booth by Patrick. Pete’s gaze is dark, and his hand tightens on his beer bottle as he watches them walk away. A minute later they’re on the dance floor, Patrick’s a little closer than he should be but Brendon doesn’t seem to mind. Something Patrick says makes Brendon throw back his head and laugh, and as Pete watches he knows that here, in this grubby little club he’d found the one. The person he’s been waiting for. 

Three dances later, Brendon is leaning against Patrick, one hand on his beer bottle and the other wrapped around Patrick's waist. They've discovered in the course of buying drinks and dancing that Brendon is a lightweight drinker, his family are in Vegas and he's been estranged from them since he left to go to college. It's pretty clear that he's interested in either one or both of them. As interested as Patrick seems to be as he rubs the soft brown hair between his fingers where Brendon has rested his head on Patrick's shoulder. As Patrick's proprietorial gaze meets Pete’s, Pete wonders just where this is going to end. 

Certainly nothing will happen tonight, other than they will have a few drinks and either one or both of them might get to kiss Brendon. If of course Brendon is amenable to that happening, and looking at him now Pete thinks that's a pretty sure bet. This is only their first encounter with him and Patrick will certainly want to meet him again before deciding whether or not Brendon is going to become a project. Not every pretty boy they meet becomes part of Patrick's library but as Pete smiles, and watches them, he thinks it's more than likely that it's exactly where Brendon is going to end up. 

For the first time he’s not happy about that, isn’t happy about the way this is panning out and he wants to lean over the table and rip Patrick’s hands from Brendon. Because for the very first time in five years Pete has seen something, someone that he wants. Somebody who interests him, the way he knew he interested Patrick when he gave him his name. Pete doesn’t want to be the partner, the protégé anymore. What he wants to be is the mentor and as he watches Brendon, and makes all the right noises, and smiles for Patrick he thinks that this could well be a turning point.

 

*******

 

Pete looks down at the body and sighs. Although he's wanted this for a while, it's not as exciting as he thought it would be. That dark visceral pleasure he's gotten when killing with Patrick isn't there. Instead, he feels almost sad and it's unexpected even though they've been together now for over five years. Clearly he felt more for Patrick than he thought he did, but then they had hunted together, killed together and in a lot of respects Patrick has been Pete's mentor. 

Until he met Patrick and convinced him not to kill him. Thankfully both Patrick and he like the same type, and killing with Patrick had been fun, had been a revelation in fact. Pete shakes his head. If nothing else he needs to be honest with himself. It had been more than fun; they'd had five glorious years of blood and fucking - five years but Patrick should have known it wouldn't last. It was time to move on. The caterpillar becomes the chrysalis, becomes the butterfly and then dies. It was time for Pete to become the butterfly. Time to hunt alone. _For a little while at least._

Twining his fingers into Patrick's red gold hair, he brings the knife up and cuts off a couple of inches. He carefully folds the hair and places it on the bedside cabinet. He’ll wrap it later in one of his handkerchiefs, making sure it isn’t lost. It’s something to treasure, something to remind him of Patrick and in his heart of hearts Pete knows that Patrick will be the only non-brunette that he will kill. The only death with hair that shines with the light of the sun. Pete wipes the blade on the bed sheets, cleaning the blood off before setting it aside. Later, he’ll wipe it down with an oily cloth before putting it away. It was a gift from Patrick on their first anniversary and he doesn’t want anything to damage it. 

Now all he needs to do is get rid of Patrick's body, but he's had plenty of practice of disposing of remains. Once that’s over and done with he can shower, have something to eat and then... well then he’s going to venture out into town. He’s going to go clubbing. He’s gotten rid of his mentor because it’s time to move on. It’s time for him to become the mentor. Pete smiles. Yes. He was definitely going to meet up with Brendon again. He NEEDS to go and find Brendon. 

He’s sure they could have some _fun _together. He touches his bloody fingers to his lips, wondering just how much Brendon might scream. What amount of persuasion would be needed to get Brendon to join Pete?__

__Pete smiles._ _

**Author's Note:**

> There are a couple of easter eggs that didn't fit with the main fic, so these will be posted in the next week or so.


End file.
